Like the uncertainty of shooting stars,
We fall from the starry night sky.
Bit by bit, drop by drop,
Into the abyss of truth.
What’s seen isn’t the sight,
All are illusionary delights,
Love clouds appear and dissolve,
Like rain from eyes’ sky.
Some little fingers crave to paint,
With colours unaffordable,
Some little eyes see the dreams,
Though smoky glasses.
Desire game played,
Objectification so obvious.
Mirrors hide the painted ugliness,
And falsehood is day’s chore.
The mountain of challenges,
Will crumble one day,
The rays of disillusionment will disappear.
The sun will rise from the west,
And truth will radiate apart from
screeching, loud lies.
